


To Burn The Length And Breadth of Sky

by BigSciencyBrain



Series: Solace [3]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Gets darker from here, I am so sorry Steve, M/M, Not so much a healthy relationship, So sorry Steve, So very sorry, Steve is in over his head, references to Agents of SHIELD, this fic is not a sex ed lesson, this is pretty much all sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-03
Updated: 2014-01-03
Packaged: 2018-01-07 06:44:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1116735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BigSciencyBrain/pseuds/BigSciencyBrain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A piece of paper leads Steve to Loki and what he finds there might change everything.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Burn The Length And Breadth of Sky

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to explore the idea of Steve being the self-destructive half of this pairing. Because I'm evil. It is possible that I am a horrible person.

The next time Steve sees Loki, he’s a black shadow against a wall of fire.

“Steve, wait,” Natasha begins.

But Steve is already running.

They don’t know who this enemy is.  SHIELD has been hunting them, trying to figure out who is pulling the strings behind kill switches hidden in false eyes.  Steve wants to know who has taken Erskine's work and twisted it into a fatal cocktail given to good men just trying to raise a family.

He dives and rolls around the corner, coming up against the side of a large SUV.  How many are there?  Men like him and not like him at all.  He uses the mirrors and the windows of the SUV to catch glimpses of the action ahead of him.  SHIELD will be there in moments, but they’ll stay hidden as long as they can.  Their greatest advantage is that they’re hidden.

Captain America doesn’t have the luxury of anonymity.  His identity is painted on his shield like a beacon.

One of the super-charged soldiers is thrown against the next vehicle down.  Steve takes the opportunity, moving forward in a crouch.  The edge of his shield catches the man’s temple and he’s down for good.  That’s one.

When he turns, he forgets to breathe.

Loki is _dancing_.

There’s no mistaking the steps, although they’re faster and sharper than they were that night in Freetown.  And although he sees no weapon in Loki’s hands, it’s immediately clear that he doesn’t need one.  It’s a dance of death and Loki has learned to use his own wings as lethal weapons; he doesn’t need to get near the men to cut them apart.  Blood sprays with every leap and spin through the air; he fights with vicious precision and incredible grace.

Steve makes sure the men who have fallen are going to stay down.  Then there is nothing but the heat and the roar of the burning building behind them.  Loki stops, his wings still sharp edged and dripping with blood, and turns to face him.

“Was there anyone else?” Steve asks, pulling his gaze away from Loki to search the street.  They need to find out who was behind these attacks.

At the other end of the street, SHIELD teams begin to arrive.  Despite himself, Steve wishes they’d been late.  As he’s about to speak, he realizes that Loki has silently closed the distance between them.

Black wings close around him, shutting out the heat and the light of the fire.  The mask that Loki wears is cool to the touch and softer than any silk that Steve has ever felt.  He gasps a little when he feels Loki’s hands in his hair; Loki takes full advantage of his open mouth, slipping his tongue inside.  The fire that ignites low in his abdomen is just as hot, just as consuming, as the blaze behind him.  Unlike the building, the fire inside him is dark, hungry, and terrifying.    

He _wants._

“Loki,” he manages to say when they break apart.  Thick heat washes over his skin, but it’s ice compared to the flush beneath his skin.  Then Loki is gone in a rush of wind and feathers, disappearing into the night.

He’s still standing in the same spot, staring up into the sky, when the others reach him.  Natasha surveys the scene, her quick eyes missing nothing.

“You could’ve left some for us,” she says as she holsters her gun.  “You’ve got a little…”

Steve reaches up to the side of his face, mimicking her gesture, and his fingertips come away slick with blood.

“Try not to run your fingers through your hair until you can get a shower.  At least, not more than you have already.”

He frowns, reaching for his hair and realizing that it’s also damp with fresh blood.  When he lowers his hands, he sees it painted over his skin like spilled watercolors.  Loki’s hands must’ve been covered with blood, he realizes.  When he looks around, he notices that the SHIELD agents are giving him a wide berth and more than a few are casting him sideways glances.

“We’ve got this, Steve.”  Natasha breaks his thoughts again.  “Why don’t you head back?  You need a shower.  Maybe a car wash.”

It isn’t until he’s back at Stark Tower and facing the mirror that he sees the gruesome patterns of blood spray over his SHIELD uniform.  There are streaks of blood, too smudged to know they’re handprints, over his neck, through his hair, and on his face.

As he strips off the uniform, he finds a small, folded up piece of paper in one of the pockets.  Written in carefully neat print is an address.

He showers as quickly as he can, washing away blood, sweat, and dirt.  His fingers shake as he pulls on jeans and a t-shirt, his skin still damp enough to make the fabric stick.  The slip of paper goes into his pocket; he leaves his cell phone on the desk as he heads for the door.  They won’t need him anyway.  He pulls the collar of his jacket up and ducks his head to lower the chances of being recognized by someone he passes on the sidewalk.  With the late night crowds and traffic, it’s almost an hour walk to get to his destination.

The building looks like it’s a citation away from being condemned.

Steve frowns, but already knows this is the right address.  The front doors are secured with chains so he heads for a side alley, looking for another way in.  A stairwell drops down from the street level and he sees a plain, unmarked door with no doorknob or handle.  Carefully, he makes his way down the steps and raises his hand to knock.

He hears the sound of a lock sliding back before his knuckles strike the metal and the door swings inward several inches. 

There is light, but it’s diffuse and weak.  He takes a short flight of stairs to reach the main living area.  The entire building is open, from floor to ceiling, with only support beams criss-crossing the space above him.  He stares, mouth falling open slightly, at the various levels that have been set up as livable space.  There’s a bedroom – he can see the outline of a large bed – and a kitchen area on upper floors.  There are staircases, but they’ve been transformed into bookshelves and storage, making them impossible to use for their intended purpose. 

It’s an entire building turned into a birdcage, he realizes.

The source of the dim light is hundreds of candles.  He can see them everywhere; spread across support beams, along the unused staircases, and scattered over flat surfaces.  Their flickering light leaves much of the space in shadow.  There’s a wide fireplace against one wall and a healthy fire burning behind a wire mesh.

“Loki?” he calls softly. 

A rush of wind answers him.  Loki descends from somewhere in the shadows above and lands in the center of the living area.  He’s wearing a worn pair of jeans precariously balanced on the sharp lines of his hipbones; his feet and chest are bare.  His hair looks slightly damp, as though freshly washed.

The silence is palpable.  Steve leaves his shoes and socks by the steps, moving cautiously into the space toward Loki.  There are benches and tables of all shapes and sizes.  He realizes that there are no chairs or sofas with backs; nothing that would press against Loki’s wings.  He’d never considered what it would be like to navigate the world with extra limbs attached to his back.  Stopping several feet away, he watches as Loki fills two glasses with a deep red wine.  The collar of his shirt suddenly feels very tight against his throat.

He shrugs off his jacket and drops it onto the nearest bench before he moves close enough to take the offered glass of wine.  His palms are slick with sweat and he can feel his face beginning to flush.  With every step he’d taken to get to the old warehouse, he’d refused to acknowledge what he was doing. 

He came here for sex.

Only the glass of wine in his hand keeps him from reaching for his jacket and running for the door.  A door that has no handle at all and can probably only be opened with magic.  He takes a long swallow of wine and wishes it could do something for his nerves.

“Thor told me about your mother,” Steve blurts out.  He cringes, awkward and horrified at what he just said.  “My mom died too.  When I was kid.”

Loki’s expression is unchanged.  He blinks, but there’s something about the motion that seems more avian than human.  He swirls his wine lazily in the glass between sips.

“I just wanted to say…I’m sorry.  I’m sorry about your mother,” Steve finishes lamely.  His face feels like it’s on fire from sheer mortification.

Without any response from Loki, there’s nothing for him to do but drink the wine and look around at the space.  Eventually, he realizes that he’s staring at Loki’s feet.  He notes the way the jeans drape down from his knees, the way the denim hugs the muscles of his thighs.  As his eyes reach Loki’s stomach, he realizes that he’s finished the entire glass of wine.  Loki extends the bottle and Steve holds out his glass almost on reflex, watching the dark liquid splash against the sides.

Loki’s skin is perfectly smooth in the dim light.  Steve thinks he might as well have been carved out of flawless, white marble.  He wants to ask Loki to turn around so he can see where white skin blends with black feathers, but he washes those words off his tongue with more wine.

What is he supposed to do?  He doesn’t think they can stand there, watching each other and drinking wine, for much longer.  But he doesn’t know what to say or if he’s supposed to make the first move.  He doesn’t know what move he would make even if he is supposed to do something.  Is Loki waiting for him to do something?

Why had he come?

He’d been thinking about everything and nothing; about Nazis and ice and seventy years lost; about the Avengers and SHIELD and the entire mad world.  In a city that never slept, he’d wanted a way to blot out the light; to find a place where he could put down his shield and stop fighting. 

He wanted to forget about Captain America.

“What is it you desire?” Loki asks with deceptive softness.  The corner of his mouth turns up in a small smile and there’s a dangerous glint in his eyes.

Steve has every idea and no idea at all of what he wants.  He wants to know if Loki’s skin feels as smooth as it looks, wants to feel the rush of air as his wings beat.  All of his desires – many of them nameless and undefined – are knotted up inside his chest.  It feels as though there’s something dark and dangerous inside him, stretching restlessly against his skin as it claws to get out.  He doesn’t know what it means but he’s certain that he needs to find out.

What was it that Tony always said?  Go big or go home.

He doesn’t want to wait, doesn’t want to take it slow, doesn’t want to do the _right thing_.  He doesn’t want to think at all.  What he wants – _all he wants_ – is to feel that same heat again and have it burn him away until there’s nothing left for SHIELD to find. 

No matter how hard they look.

He sets his glass down on the coffee table.  Hands shaking, he strips off his t-shirt and sets it aside.  He can’t bring himself to look at Loki as he undoes the button and zipper of his jeans, sliding both denim and boxers down his legs.  Carefully stepping out of his jeans, he sets them with his shirt and jacket.  He’s completely naked now, exposed.  With more confidence than he feels, he picks up the glass of wine and sits down on the bench behind him.  In the back of his mind, he’s waiting for Loki to laugh at him; waiting for the rejection that always came.  Even after the serum, even in this body that never _quite_ felt like his, he’d never been able to shake the fear of rejection.

He drinks wine rather than ask if this is _okay_ and if Loki _wants this too._   With each swallow, he’s more and more convinced that he’s made a complete fool of himself.

Loki smiles suddenly.  “It does have a certain symmetry to it.  Poetic even.”

Before Steve can figure out what that means, Loki closes the distance between them and drops down to his knees, pushing Steve’s legs further apart.  He’s barely able to choke down a mouthful of wine when Loki lowers his head and he feels cool lips brush against his cock.  Putting down the glass rather than risk it breaking in his hand, he dares to look down.  He watches Loki’s tongue dart out, feels the tip trace a line and then swirl around the head of his penis.

It’s all he can do to breathe.  He moves one hand to Loki’s hair, digging in and holding on.  Loki’s hands slide up his legs and settle on his hips, strong fingers digging into his flesh.

He’s never gotten hard so quickly in his life. 

He gasps as Loki’s mouth closes around his cock and watches the way his cheeks hollow.  The wet heat is better than Steve had even imagined.  His hips rock, his body trying to thrust against Loki’s mouth and feel more.  Loki uses the motion to pull him forward to the very edge of the bench, forcing him to reach back and grip the other edge for stability. 

Tipping his head to the side, he watches the muscles in Loki’s jaw and throat move as his head bobs.  He reaches for Loki’s hair again, combing through it with clumsy strokes.  There’s no sound left in him to make as Loki’s hand slides along the inside of his thigh, moving to cup his balls.  He’s barely in control of his own body now.  Loki looks up and his green eyes are bright; his pupils dilated.  His thumb makes smooth strokes, tugging and teasing at sensitive skin.

“Loki,” Steve hisses through clenched teeth.   “I’m close.”

He is.  He’s frighteningly, terrifyingly close.  It feels like a cliff, a point of no return.  His thoughts are scattered and torn; he feels like he’s about to dive headlong into an abyss and he’ll never be able to climb out again. 

This will change everything, he thinks.  He doesn’t know how.

Loki’s hand shifts; his gaze doesn’t waver as he pulls his mouth away.  He catches the tip of Steve’s cock with his tongue and lips, almost too gently.  The loss of sensation feels almost painful and Steve instinctually thrusts forward.  His grip on Loki’s hair tightens; he wants to pull his head down and force his cock into Loki’s mouth again, but he doesn’t; instead, he shudders and flexes his fingers in Loki’s hair.

He feels Loki’s fingers move and his brain registers panic a split second before he feels a finger – two fingers? – press against his asshole.  In the same moment that Loki pushes his fingers into Steve’s body, he opens his mouth and swallows down his cock until Steve can’t believe he’s not choking.

Steve has time to inhale, barely enough to register all of the sensations coursing through him.  He can feel the fingers of Loki’s left hand digging into his hip and the fingers of his right pushing harder and deeper into his body.  It burns, enough to make him very aware of it, but all of that is nearly overwhelmed by the slick heat of Loki’s mouth.  This time, he does pull Loki’s head down, pushing as deep as he can, and he comes in jagged, breathless waves.  His thoughts in pieces, he shivers as Loki licks the last drops of saliva and semen from his skin.

He wants to tell Loki that was the most incredible orgasm of his life, but he doesn’t.  Instead, he strokes his fingers through Loki’s hair.  His body is still buzzing, but his muscles feel perfectly languid and relaxed.  He’s still sluggish when Loki stands up and pulls him to his feet.  His muscles respond more out of habit than intent.  He holds on as Loki leaves the ground.  Something hard presses against his hip; he barely has time to consider that before Loki lands on the bedroom area that juts out into the space.

Then he has no time at all to think because Loki is kissing him and pressing him backward toward the bed.  He can taste himself on Loki’s tongue.  Half falling, he tumbles back onto the bed and pulls Loki with him.  Loki’s hands are already working the zipper of his jeans; Steve hooks his fingers over the waistband to help drag them down.  With a movement that seems inhumanly fast, Steve is on his back and Loki is naked and straddling him.

Steve’s mouth goes dry as he watches Loki reach down, fingers curling around his own erect cock.  The skin is an almost angry red, contrasting against the rest of him.  But, as Steve looks closer, he realizes that he can see a flush beneath the skin of Loki’s chest and throat and two bright spots high on his cheeks.

Somehow, that makes it feel more real.

He pulls at Loki’s wrist, settling his fingers around Loki’s cock and matching the easy rhythm that Loki had started.  Loki rolls his hips, taking full advantage of Steve’s grip, his palms settling against Steve’s chest. 

“Spread your wings,” Steve whispers, still a little breathless.

There’s a look in Loki’s eyes that he doesn’t understand, but he forgets to wonder when black wings unfold above him.  Heat pools in the pit of his stomach and he finds himself rocking his hips upward, matching Loki’s motion.  He’s getting hard again; he can’t help it.

Loki’s fingers curl against his chest, nails digging into skin.  Behind him, black wings flex and shift, feathers fluttering subtly.

Words stick in Steve’s throat.  He changes hands and wishes he was more skilled at this, at _everything._   Something is welling up inside his chest; something tight and hot and nameless.  Something he wants but can’t describe, even though he’s desperate for it.  As he looks up, he wonders if Loki can see it in his face, in his skin.  Maybe Loki can look inside him and see the _thing_ he wants.

He watches those black wings fold and unfold, air brushing against his heated skin.  He’s hard again, his cock sliding up against Loki’s ass.

“Tell me what you want,” Loki says, his voice low and rough.

“I don’t…I don’t know,” Steve stammers.  He groans when Loki reaches behind him and places one hand flat against his cock, pressing it into the seam of his ass.  The head of his cock catches against skin and, for a frightening moment, it feels as though he’s going to bury himself inside Loki.

Loki leans down, his breath brushing against Steve’s ear.  “Is that what you want?”

 _Yes_ , Steve thinks, but he knows there’s more.  There’s something else that he wants; something that he doesn’t have words for.  When he realizes that his grip on Loki’s cock has tightened, probably enough to be painful, he tries to take a deep breath and steady himself.  

“Do you,” his voice comes out like gravel.  “Do you want me to?”  If Loki says yes, he won’t hesitate a second.

“You want it,” Loki purrs against his ear.  “You see it every time you close your eyes.  Your cock buried inside me.  But it’s the wings that really turn you on, isn’t it?  These grotesque, unnatural wings.  They’re the reason you’re so desperate to fuck me.  I’m a freak.  Disfigured, malformed.  And it turns you on.”

 _No, it’s not, you’re not,_ Steve thinks, but can't get his tongue to move.  He’s in over his head now.  Fingernails dig into skin at the base of his neck and scrape down his chest.  His breath hisses between his teeth, back arching against the sharp pain of it. 

He feels as much as hears Loki’s laughter.  “I am beginning to understand why you’ve come to me.”

Steve swallows hard.  There’s something in Loki’s voice that terrifies him.  His heart is racing; sweat drips down his temple.  “I want…I want,” he stammers.

“Yes?”  Loki raises his eyebrows, waiting.

He doesn’t have the words.  He knows he doesn’t have the words.  He wants to see Loki’s body strain for release; wants to see his eyes roll back in his head as he comes until he’s dry.  There’s too much that Steve wants for him to even it figure out.

He lets go of Loki’s cock to wrap his arms around him.  Gripping Loki’s hips, he wordlessly encourages Loki to grind against his stomach.  Slowly, he slides one hand to the seam of Loki’s ass, feeling for the circle of puckered flesh.  There’s a hitch in Loki’s breath when his finger finds the spot.  He keeps the contact light, just the tip of his finger tracing an outline.  Experimentally, he dips his finger into the center, feeling resistance against his touch.  Pulling Loki further up his body gives him more room; he presses his middle finger into Loki up to his first knuckle, then the second, and finally, as deep as he can go.  It’s hot and tight; although the flesh gives, there’s no lubrication.

Loki’s breathing is ragged now and his cock is weeping against Steve’s stomach.  He grips the comforter beneath them as Steve presses his index and middle finger together, angling his hand to push both fingers in.

“You’re tight,” Steve whispers against Loki’s hair.

“Deeper,” Loki moans in response.

Steve buries his fingers as deeply as he can, curling and twisting them in an attempt to loosen up the muscles.  Loki is shivering now, his hips moving against Steve in starts and jerks.

“Do you…do you have…”  Steve stops, face burning. 

Suddenly, Loki pushes up from the bed and away from Steve.  He’s reaching for something, pulling away.  Steve almost protests, but stops when he sees the small jar in Loki’s hands.  As Loki rocks back on his heels, Steve reaches once more for his cock and strokes it gently.  Loki’s eyes close for a moment, his face flushing bright red.  He swipes two fingers into the jar before spinning the lid back on and tossing it aside.  His fingers stroke deftly along Steve’s cock, slicking it with something that feels like oil.

Steve has just enough time to wonder if that’s enough before Loki lifts himself up, his hand still wrapped loosely around Steve’s cock, and presses down.  The skin is unyielding at first, then gives and Steve feels the head of his cock gripped tight.  Loki doesn’t stop there.  Steve gasps as the heat and pressure moves down his cock, and before he can tell Loki to slow down, he’s bottomed out.  Afraid to move, he searches Loki’s face for any indication of pain.  Above him, Loki is breathing hard.  His hands clench into fists against his thighs and he makes small, almost unnoticeable movements with his hips.

Black wings spread wide and beat once, a sharp, short stroke, against the air around them.  Steve stares up at them with awe; Loki is right, he wants _this_.  He’d brought himself to orgasm again and again with the dream of it.

Loki finally opens his eyes and a lazy smile spreads over his lips.  He shifts his weight forward, pressing his cock into Steve’s hand and simultaneously letting Steve’s slip part way out of his body.  With another seemingly effortless shift, he moves back and drives himself down onto Steve once again.  It’s all Steve could do to hold himself together.

He doesn’t protest when Loki pulls his hand away; he can’t hold a rhythm with the intensity of the sensations.  Instead, he digs his fingers into the fabric at his sides and watches, just watches, as Loki strokes himself.  He tries to pay attention to the way Loki curls and moves his fingers, hoping desperately that he’ll remember _that’s_ how Loki likes to be touched, but Loki is still fucking himself on his cock the same time and that tears apart all of Steve’s attempts to think clearly.

He tries to hold back, tries to take deep breaths.  As though realizing what he’s doing, Loki speeds up to a brutal rhythm.  A sheen of sweat glistens on his pale skin.

“Loki,” Steve chokes out.  His knuckles are white with his grip on the blanket.

Loki’s eyes go wide, his mouth opening.  Behind him, his wings beat at the air and almost pull him away.  Steve has to let go of the bed and grab onto Loki’s hips, holding him fast.  He can’t help himself now, suddenly in control, and thrusts wildly into Loki.  He can barely hear the slick slap of skin against skin over his ragged breathing.  The dark, unnamed _wanting_ inside him rises up again.

Loki arches his back, moaning, and semen splashes out over Steve’s chest in hot pulses.

Steve groans – he’s so close, so close, but it’s not quite _enough_ – and Loki reaches down.  His hand smears semen as it slides upward, fingertips brushing against Steve’s throat.  Fingers curl, nails digging into skin, and he rakes downward sharply, leaving tracks of stinging, angry skin.  The sharp pain pushes Steve over the edge and he drives hard into Loki, shuddering as his orgasm whites out his vision and he loses sense of the world.

Slowly, his thoughts come back together.  He realizes that Loki’s weight is gone, but he can feel the soft brush of breath against his shoulder.  Without opening his eyes, he rolls to the side enough to reach out and pull Loki closer, settling him snugly against his side.  Silken feathers brush against the back of his arm.

“Did I hurt you?” he asks hoarsely, pressing his face against Loki’s hair.

The silence stretches out long enough that he opens his eyes and turns his head, trying to see Loki’s face.  Loki’s eyes are closed and his breathing is steady.

He runs his fingers over Loki’s lower back and hip, feeling muscles tighten beneath his touch.  “Loki.” 

Loki finally answers, his voice thick with either sleep or satisfaction.  “You gave me no more pain than I gave you.”

Steve feels the scratches on his chest twinge.  He wants to ask if this is going to happen again, if he’s going to have another chance to do it differently, to do it better.  There’s more that he wants; the strange, dark yearning inside him is sated for now, but he knows it won’t be for long.

And he knows there’s no going back now.

Later, he climbs down to the lower floor, leaving Loki sleeping, and gathers his clothes.  The door opens as he approaches it and he slips out.  There are still hours until dawn; no one questions him as he walks back to Stark Tower.  He sees no one on the elevator ride and nothing but silence greets him on the Avengers floor.  He’s glad for it; he isn’t ready to face any of them.

The face in his bathroom mirror is a stranger.  Gingerly, he traces the four lines down his chest where Loki’s fingernails had just broken the skin.  The marks will be gone in a matter of hours, leaving no visible trace of what he’d done.

What he’d _allowed_ himself to do; what he’d _wanted_ to do.

He’s spent a lifetime focused on getting the job done, on the Big Picture.  Every fiber of his being is screaming that he needs to get back to work and focus on nothing else.  It’s that voice he listens to as he showers again, tidies up the bathroom and his living area, and takes care of the dirty laundry and daily clutter.  He listens to that voice as he leaves his rooms to make a cup of herbal tea, responding to JARVIS without paying much attention to what the artificial intelligence is saying.

He climbs into bed with his mug of cinnamon apple tea and a book he picked up about the history of the twentieth century.  By the time he finishes the tea, he’s almost finished with the book as well.  It’s only two o’clock in the morning when he finally puts the book away and turns off the lamp on his bedside table.

Lying in the darkness before dawn, it’s harder to listen to that voice.  Other voices begin to creep in and he finds himself tossing and turning, staring at the numbers on the face of the clock.

When morning comes, there will be SHIELD briefings and a new mission; there will be people to protect and a bad guy to fight and he’ll be Captain America again.  But at night, lying in the dark, he’s painfully aware that Captain America is just a costume that he wears.

**

Steve doesn’t see Loki again for almost two weeks.  He puts it out of his mind, pretends it never happened.  He focuses on getting the job done and leading his team.  They need him – they need _Captain America_ – and he can’t let them down.

A mission goes wrong. 

No one dies but men are injured and Steve can’t bring himself to look at the blood on Natasha’s cheek where she’d been struck by shrapnel.

“You did good,” Fury tells him.  “You saved a lot of people tonight.”

Steve isn’t listening.  He’s thinking of everyone who ever followed him into a battle and never followed him out. 

They order out for dinner – it’s an Avengers tradition – but the food tastes like sawdust in Steve’s mouth.  The voices and sounds seem distorted, like he’s on the other side of a door from everyone else.  When Tony asks what’s wrong with him, he blames the concussion grenades and says he needs to get some air.

Part of him knows where he’ll go, but he still feels a wrench at the pit of his stomach when he realizes where he is.  He takes the steps one at a time.  Again, the door swings open as he raises his hand to knock.  There’s a faint smell of smoke on the air as he enters.  It’s not unpleasant, like a campfire.  The hundreds of candles cast dancing shadows over the walls, never quite reaching into the furthest heights of the warehouse.

He leaves his shoes at the top of the stairs and hangs his jacket over the steel railing.  Although he can’t see Loki, he knows he’s there.  It takes him longer to reach the level with the bed; he finds his way by leaping and swinging from poles and beams.  When he finally reaches his destination, the bed is empty.

A shift in light catches his attention.  Some of the candles on the lower level have been snuffed out.

He strips off his clothes, unhurried, as the shadows begin to close in around him, and climbs onto the bed.  Stretching out on his back, he settles one arm behind his head and waits.  When Loki lands at the foot of the bed, quiet as an owl, he is naked and his skin is golden in the candlelight. 

Steve can’t help but watch the play of wings as Loki lowers his hands to the bed and moves forward on his hands and knees.  He pauses to lick a slow line along the underside of Steve’s cock; his eyes glittering with more than just the reflection of the candles.  Closing his eyes, Steve focuses on the sensation of cool lips against his stomach and chest.  As soon as he can reach, he combs his fingers lightly through Loki’s hair.  Sharp teeth nip at the skin stretched over his collarbone as Loki pulls his head to the side, exposing more of his neck.

Breath stutters in his throat when Loki bites down at the base of his neck.  He lets one hand slide down to rest against the joint where Loki’s wings begin.

The pain in his neck fades as Loki pulls away.  “What have you come for this night?”

Steve shivers a little at the words, wondering if Loki means them to sound as layered and terrifying as they do or if he’s only imagining that part.  He turns his head, seeking out Loki’s lips without opening his eyes.  The chaste, closed mouth kiss feels frustrating instead of exciting; he tightens his hand and grips a fistful of hair at the nape of Loki’s neck.  Loki smiles against his lips a moment before he allows Steve’s tongue to slip inside his mouth.

A jolt of pain in his tongue makes Steve jump and his eyes fly open.  Loki is laughing, silently.  Before he can say anything, Loki is kissing him, hard.

He loses himself in panted breaths drawn when they pull apart.  Each time Loki’s teeth bite down on his throat or shoulder, it’s as though the pain lances out through his entire body and the dark, nameless _thing_ in his chest writhes closer to the surface. 

“Well, well, Captain,” Loki murmurs against his skin.

“Don’t call me that.”  The harshness in his voice surprises him.  “My name is Steve.”

“Steve,” Loki repeats.  Ever graceful, he pushes up and straddles Steve’s hips, his knees pressing against ribs.  He catches Steve’s wrists, thumbs pressing into the joint just below the heels of his palms.  Teeth graze the sensitive skin inside his right wrist; the only word he can think of to describe the look in Loki’s eyes is _wicked_.  He shivers at the sensation as the tip of Loki’s tongue dances over the spots his teeth had touched.

A sensation of cold and weight tugs at Steve’s awareness; his wrists feel almost impossibly heavy.  When Loki lets go, he can’t keep his arms up and once his wrists touch the bed, he finds that he can’t move them at all.  He tugs, experimentally, and stares at his wrists with the expectation of seeing rope or chains, but there’s nothing there.

“It is merely a trick,” Loki says smoothly.  He settles his weight back onto Steve’s hips and eyes him speculatively, as though he were eying an ice cream cone and deciding where to lick first.

Steve knows that he should protest, fight back even, or try to break free.  Instead, he takes a deep breath, feels himself sink a bit deeper into the mattress, and turns his attention to Loki.  He watches Loki’s hands as they move over his stomach and chest; he has long, elegant fingers that are hypnotizing.  It isn’t long before his eyes stray to Loki’s wings.  The edges and tips are lit with warm candlelight, illuminating just enough of their shape for his imagination to fill in the details.  Cool fingers stroking down the length of his penis bring his attention sharply back to Loki.

With deliberate care that is almost gentleness, Loki presses the length of his cock against Steve’s, lining them up and wrapping those long fingers around them both.  The added sensation of smooth skin, warmer than Loki’s fingers, is heady.  He ruts up into the motion as Loki leans forward. 

The last thing he expects is ice. 

Loki’s exhalation is visible, like breath on a winter day, and burns with cold where it touches skin.  Steve gasps, tensing and trying to pull away from the track of ice appearing on his chest.

“Loki.”

“Relax,” Loki whispers against his skin, breathing out more ice.

“Loki,” Steve repeats. What he feels now is rising, irrational panic.  When Loki looks up, there is a crease across his brow and his eyes narrow momentarily.

“You are afraid,” he says simply.

Steve tries to force the fear down.  “I don’t like ice.”

Loki makes a small noise, like a hum, and tips his head to the side.  “It reminds you of the years were you frozen.  The years you lost.”

“I just don’t like it,” Steve answers stubbornly, defiantly.  He didn’t come here to talk about his past; he came to forget about all of that, forget who he’d been and who he was.

A sly grin spreads across Loki’s lips; they are covered with a layer of frost and tinged blue.  He shifts his weight, moving down Steve’s body now.

“Loki,” is as far as Steve gets before ice cold lips press against his cock and it’s as much pain as pleasure.  He grits his teeth to keep from screaming.  Loki is pressing him down against the mattress and he realizes that his ankles are now bound as firmly as his wrists.

There’s ice spreading over his skin; he can feel it. 

Shivering with each spike of sensation; he isn’t sure if he’s going to come or if he’s going into shock.  Another bolt of cold – Loki’s finger pressing inside him – makes him go rigid.  He’s about to beg Loki to stop when an entirely new feeling grips him. In a flash, it’s gone, and then back again.  Each time it stops, he finds himself straining for more, unconsciously trying to grind down against Loki’s hand and feel it again.  Ice cracks as he strains against the invisible bindings on his wrists and ankles, but he no longer wants to break free.  He can feel Loki’s laughter, the vibrations of it humming along his cock and that sends him toppling once more into the abyss.  Ice shatters as he comes against the back of Loki’s throat.  The cold begins to dissipate immediately and when Steve looks down, breathless and panting, his skin is damp but there is no sign of any ice. 

“There now,” Loki says softly.  “The cold is not always to be feared.”

He feels the pressure on his ankles and wrists vanish.  Sitting up, he pushes back against the wall, still breathing hard.  “Magic?  That was magic, right?”

Loki stretches out on onto his side.  “One of my many talents.”  He sounds bitter rather than proud.

In that moment, Steve is acutely aware of how badly he is in over his head.  Having a lover with centuries more experience is one thing; having a lover with centuries more experience and magical powers is entirely different.  Mouth suddenly dry, he tries to think when all his body wants to do is lie down and sleep.  He’d always known that sex with Loki would be dangerous, in more than one way. 

If he’s honest with himself, that’s part of the appeal.

He forces his tongue to move before he can think better of what he’s about to say.  “What do you get out of this?”

Loki looks at him strangely.  “I should think that would be obvious.”

“I can’t…do anything like that.  I can’t create ice just by breathing.  You’re my first…pretty much everything.”  Steve rubs at his forehead as though that would clear his thoughts.  “How do I…what do you want me to do?  I’ve never…I mean, it’s not that…I just don’t…don’t have a lot of experience.  Or any, actually.”

Once again, the way Loki blinks at him seems more avian than human.  “You are concerned that you do not please me.”

“Of course I am.”  Though now that he’s said it, he’s not sure if that’s exactly what he means. 

All he’s really sure of is that when Loki touches him, he can drown out that voice inside his head telling him to keep going and focus on the job; the _job_ that gets other people hurt or killed.

Loki motions for him to get closer and he obeys with only a moment’s hesitation, lying back down on the bed.  Without a word, Loki presses against him, molding his body to Steve’s.  The shiver that runs down Steve’s back has nothing to do with the temperature.  Gently, one black wing folds over them both.  It blocks out most of the light from the remaining candles and he’s surprised to feel the air around him warm.

Loki’s lips brush against Steve’s ear as he whispers.  “Stay.  Until the sun rises.  That would please me.” 

He has to lick his lips and swallow against the dryness in his throat before he can speak.  “Alright.”  He lies still, listening the sound of Loki breathing and feeling the brush of feathers against his skin. 

He can almost forget that tomorrow, he’ll have to be Captain America again.

**

Steve barely makes it a week before he finds himself at Loki’s door again.

Nothing had gone wrong that day, but he still feels like he’s drowning in a world that doesn’t need him.  He’s being eaten alive, swallowed down a bite at time, by an identity that isn’t what he’d signed up for; being Captain America doesn’t mean what it meant before the ice.

America isn't what it was before the ice.

He can smell food cooking as he climbs the stairs, hanging his jacket over the steel railing.  The candles are lit and there are wine glasses already poured out.  He wonders how Loki knew he was coming.  Listening, he determines that the kitchen is on another upper level.  It isn’t difficult to find a route up, climbing and leaping from beam to beam.  When he pulls himself up onto the platform, he is surprised to see Loki at the stove, stirring something that smells heavenly. 

“There are plates in the cupboard beside the sink.  Right hand side,” Loki says without turning away from what he was focused on.

Steve finds the plates, trying not to stare openly at Loki.  It’s a quick search for silverware as well and there’s a basket of freshly baked rolls that he thinks might be meant for dinner.  Carefully, he sets two place settings on the small, bar height table and sits down to wait.  His gaze drifts to Loki, who is wearing nothing but jeans and an apron.  The image of Loki wearing an apron and cooking dinner is so radically different  – _so human_ – from the image of Loki portrayed in SHIELD’s briefings that it’s jarring.

“Is there anything else I can do to help?” he asks awkwardly.

Loki turns, gripping the handle of a large sauce pan.  “It is ready.”  With unexpected poise, he scoops out two servings onto the plates and returns the pan to the stove.

Mouth watering at the smell, Steve inspects the mound of spaghetti doused with tomato sauce and peppered with a variety of chopped vegetables and a dark meat.  It smells of spices that he can’t quite identify.  He glances up as Loki strips off the apron, setting it aside as he takes the seat across the table. 

“Thank you,” Steve says, feeling inadequate.  If he’d known, he would’ve brought a bottle of wine or something.

On corner of Loki’s mouth quirks up into a half smile, but only for a moment.  “You may wish to try it before you thank me.”

“It smells amazing.”  Steve picks up his fork and digs into the pasta, trying to catch a carrot and a chunk of meat as well.  The taste, like the smell, is different than he expected and unusual; his eyes widen as he chews.  “This is incredible, really,” he says, mouth half full.  Loki’s half smile returns as he watches Steve eat.

They eat in silence.  Steve forgets to think about anything except the food and each flavor as it hits his taste buds.  He almost wants to ask for the recipe, because he knows the others would love it as much as he does.  But he also wants to think that this is something he can share with Loki that is just _his_ and _theirs_ ; another secret that he’ll keep tucked away.  Back at Stark Tower, where he is Captain America, his entire life is on display.  Either he’s watched by JARVIS and SHIELD or it’s the constant hounding of the press and the pressure to be a role model. 

He’s not just a hero; he’s _the_ American hero.

He nods his thanks, mouth full of food, when Loki serves him a second helping.  He’s halfway through his second plate when Loki clears his place and returns with a bottle of wine.

Loki swirls his wine slowly, his long limbs draped over the bar stool and table.  “I would like to fuck you tonight.  To bury my cock inside you and mark the very core of you as my own.”  He takes a slow sip of wine, his eyes never leaving Steve’s.

Steve has to remind himself to breathe and then swallow, his throat suddenly tight.  “Do you mean that you want to…” he trails off, face heating with a mixture of embarrassment and arousal.

“Yes,” Loki answers as though Steve had managed to choke out the rest of the question.   He sets the glass of wine down on the table before he stands, moving gracefully around the table to stand behind Steve.  His hands settle lightly on Steve’s shoulders, strong fingers working against muscles.

Brushing at his lips, Steve reaches for the glass of wine and drinks almost half of it.  His stomach suddenly feels as though it’s full of butterflies.

Loki leans in to whisper against his ear.  “Relax.” 

Steve closes his eyes as Loki begins to kiss a line from his ear to his shoulder.  He shudders at the edges of teeth he can feel against his skin.  One of Loki’s hands slides down his side and around to his stomach, drifting down between Steve’s legs and tugging against the denim of his jeans.

“Now?  Here?”  He hopes his voice doesn’t sound as high as he thinks it does.

“Yes,” Loki breathes against his ear.

He can feel his body responding, blood rushing to fill his cock with each stroke of Loki’s fingers.  Hesitantly, he leans back against Loki’s body and lets himself go still, trying to relax. 

“Stand up.” 

Steve does as he’s told, face flushing anew as Loki maneuvers the bar stool and turns him to face it.  “What do I do?” he asks, his voice sounding even higher than before.

“Hold onto the chair and relax.”  Loki’s hand slides across Steve’s back, pressing him down with gentle pressure.

Steve grips both sides of the carved wooden seat.  It forces him to bend over, not completely but enough that he can suddenly feel Loki pressing against his buttocks.  His heartbeat speeds up as Loki grinds slowly, deliberately against him and he can feel the press of his erection.  The skin of his lower back prickles when Loki pushes the fabric of his t-shirt up around his ribs.  He shivers as Loki kisses and licks along his spine.  At the same time, Loki’s hands drift over his hips; his jeans are unfastened in moments and those clever fingers slip between fabric and skin.  He presses against the touch, his cock beginning to ache.

“Are you sure?” he asks as Loki tugs at his jeans, pulling them down to his ankles.  “Are you sure you want to do this here?”

“I want you now,” Loki answers, his hands moving over Steve’s thighs in a lazy caress.

“Oh…okay,” Steve manages to stammer.  His grip on the stool is tight enough that his knuckles are white.

Loki’s touch is light, his hand cupping Steve’s right buttock as his thumb brushes against his asshole.  “Your first time will be overwhelming.  Perhaps painful.”

The nameless _thing_ in Steve’s chest stirs.  “I’ll…I’ll be okay.” 

A sudden cold, it feels like a drop of ice water on his skin, makes him jump.  Loki’s hand presses lightly against his lower back, almost as though trying to comfort him.  When he reaches around to take hold of Steve’s cock again, his fingers are slick with a clear liquid – Steve has no idea _what_ – and slide effortlessly over his skin.  He can’t help canting into Loki’s strokes, even as he feels Loki working at zipper of his own jeans.  He bows his head, biting down on his lower lip.  There’s a feeling of pressure; he gasps a little in surprise when Loki’s finger slips inside him.

Slick with lubricant, it doesn’t burn as it had before and he relaxes, trying to adjust to the sensation of Loki working his finger in and out of his body.  There is a twinge of pain as his muscles stretch to accommodate two fingers, but it isn’t unpleasant.  Every so often, he can feel the brush of Loki’s cock against his skin and his muscles tense in anticipation.  He feels Loki’s hand twist and then something inside him flashes with sudden pleasure.  He presses back, wanting to feel it again; his cock beginning to throb with each stroke of Loki’s fingers.

“Spread your legs further,” Loki instructs softly, moving his hand between Steve’s legs.

Steve forces his eyes open, watching as Loki’s cock slides between his legs, rubbing against his balls in a way that renders him breathless.  The motion is mesmerizing and he finds himself rocking back against Loki with each thrust.  He can feel the smile on Loki’s lips when he leans down to press a kiss against his back.

“So eager,” Loki murmurs against his skin, his fingers pressing deeper.  “Tell me when this is no longer enough.”

At first, Steve doesn’t understand what Loki means.  He’s still trying to sort through everything he’s feeling; the rub of Loki’s cock between his legs and the new sensation of having Loki’s fingers buried inside him.  Long fingers fan out over his stomach, digging in just slightly.  His breath catches in his throat as Loki wraps his hand loosely around his cock, rubbing small circles into sensitive skin.  The combination is overwhelming and he struggles simply to breathe; he’s torn between wanting to thrust forward and press back at the same time.

“Loki,” he gasps, shuddering as Loki’s fingers brush against that spot inside him again and again.

“More?”

“Yes,” Steve chokes out.  Because suddenly Loki’s fingers aren’t enough and he doesn’t understand it, he simply _knows_.

“This may hurt.  At first.  Try to relax.”

The _thing_ inside his chest thrills at the thought that it _might_.  He shies away from that.  Suddenly, Loki’s fingers are gone and he’s torn between a keen sense of loss and anticipation so sharp that it cuts.  An instant later, he feels the head of Loki’s cock against his asshole.  Loki’s hands settle on his hips, lightly at first and then his grip tightens.

He cries out sharply as Loki begins to push into him, because it does hurt.  There is _pain_ and his body feels like it’s burning against the intrusion.  Every centimeter seems more agonizing than the last.

“Loki.  Wait…it’s too much,” he pants, wincing.

Loki’s response is to push deeper, until Steve thinks he’s going to be torn apart.  He drops his forehead to the bar stool, trying to catch his breath.  He thinks the pain might be fading, lessening, as Loki stays still for several moments, but fresh pain, sharp and bright, lances through him when Loki begins to make long, slow thrusts.  He reaches around and catches Steve’s cock in one hand, matching each thrust with a loose stroke.

Torn between pleasure and pain, Steve is suddenly glad for something to hold onto.  Gradually, he realizes that the pain is fading, his body adjusting little by little, and he finally reaches a middle ground where, if not exactly comfortable, it isn’t uncomfortable either.

He wishes he could see Loki’s face, imagining the flush of red high up on his cheekbones and the way the tip of his tongue would catch against his teeth.  The image in his mind snaps into perfect clarity as he realizes that Loki is buried _inside_ him, that he is going to come _inside_ him.  He pushes up, letting go of the bar stool, and leans back against Loki’s chest.  Turning his head, he catches the back of Loki’s head with one hand and pulls him forward to press a hard kiss against his lips.  The changed angle of penetration forces Loki to roll his hips rather than thrust directly forward; Steve feels him drag against the spot inside and he almost comes undone.

Loki sucks at Steve’s tongue and lower lip, taking gentle bites.  “To be the first to have you is…exquisite,” he whispers against Steve’s mouth.

Steve doesn’t resist when Loki presses a hand against his shoulder, pushing him back down.  He grips the bar stool again and lowers his head.  Tension is building in his lower back and legs; he’s pressing back against Loki almost as much as Loki is pushing forward into him.

The first slap comes as a surprise and he jerks, eyes widening at the sharp sting in his right buttock.  He barely has time to register what happened before Loki strikes him again.  He almost tells Loki to stop, his face flushing hot, but suddenly his cock is aching almost painfully and he realizes that he’s straining against Loki’s hand.  Loki’s thrusts become shallower, faster; his hand coming down against Steve’s skin with each one.

Steve almost falls forward when Loki pulls his hand away from his cock, leaving it hanging, swollen and aching, between his legs.  His entire body is shaking now.  He feels Loki’s hips roll, his cock moving against the spot inside him again and again.  Each touch is followed by another strike of Loki’s hand, until pain and pleasure bleed together and he can’t tell them apart.  Steve feels his muscles begin to tense and he’s _so close_.  Loki’s left hand slides back around, catching his cock and stroking from root to tip; as he begins a second stroke, his right hand comes down hard against Steve’s skin.

That’s all he can take; he comes in agonizingly intense pulses, gripping the bar stool tightly as he ejaculates over the floor and Loki’s hand.

Collapsing against the bar stool, he reaches up to grip the edge of the table with one hand, trying to steady himself against Loki’s thrusts.  A wine glass topples, ringing against the table and splashing wine over Steve’s back.  Loki’s fingers dig sharply into his hips; senseless words coming out in a breathless moan.  He buries himself deep and wraps his arms around Steve’s chest, as if to hold himself in place.

Steve doesn’t know if he’s imagining the sensation of Loki’s cock pulsing inside him or if it’s real; if he’s actually feeling the subtle beat of Loki’s orgasm.  He reaches for Loki’s hands, wreathing their fingers together tightly, and leans back again.  There’s sweat and salt on Loki’s lips; his breath smells sweet, like the wine.  He winces when Loki’s cock slips out and thick, hot liquid drips down his inner thigh.

“Stay here,” Loki says against his lips.

Reluctantly, Steve lets him go, his skin suddenly chilled without Loki pressed against him.  He rights the wine glass and Loki tosses him a black dish towel.  As he mops up the spilled wine from the table, brushing at his shoulders as well, Loki returns with a wet cloth.

“Whoa!”  Steve jumps when Loki swipes the cloth against the inside of his thigh, but Loki only grins.

He pulls Steve into an embrace, catching his lips for a long, deep kiss.  His hands drift lower and he presses the cloth against Steve’s asshole; the tender skin is sensitized and aching.  He can still feel the imprint of Loki’s hand on his skin like a day-old sunburn. 

“Well?” Loki asks softly.  His eyes are bright even in the dim light.

Steve swallows, his stomach fluttering again.  “We could do that again.  Some time.”  He feels the _thing_ inside his chest writhe as Loki’s fingers settle lightly against the dull ache in his buttock. 

“I’m afraid your food is likely cold.”  There is a trace of amusement in Loki’s voice.

Suddenly Steve feels awkward, pushing his t-shirt down again and acutely aware of his jeans and boxers around his ankles.  Loki has already zipped up his jeans and, except for the still bright spots in his cheeks, looks unaffected by the exertion of sex.  “Um, is there a…shower…or something?”

Loki tosses the wet cloth into the sink.  “Below us.  The water takes some time to warm.”

“Alright.”  Steve watches Loki move to the edge of the kitchen platform; his wings spreading wide the moment before he steps over the edge and disappears. 

He fumbles with his jeans, tugging them up and clumsily working the zipper.  Turning back to the table, he finishes off the rest of the pasta; it tastes just as good cold.  When he’s done, he takes his plate and the wine glasses to the sink.  He can hear water running when he drops down from the kitchen and follows a trail of candles toward the sound.

The bathroom isn’t at all what he expected.

There is a sink and a mirror along one wall, with a toilet tucked into a narrow alcove.  More candles line the walls and cast flickering reflections in the mirror.  The shower itself takes up nearly all of the space and he sees a half dozen shower heads jutting down from the pipes above.  Water circles around a drain in the floor.  He’s stuck fast in place as he watches it spray down over Loki’s naked body.  It beads up along his feathers, catching the candlelight like hundreds of glittering diamonds.

His throat suddenly tight, Steve strips away his clothes and sets them, folded neatly, beside the sink.  As he gets near, he can’t help reaching out to let his fingers trail over the back of one wing.  Loki glances back, water rushing down the line of his nose and cheeks and tugging his hair down around his throat.  

“You are beautiful,” Steve says softly, the tips of his fingers still resting against black feathers.  He doesn’t resist when Loki turns and pulls him under the stream of water.

His thoughts feel far away, abstract and separate from the physical sensations of his body.  He buries his forehead against Loki’s neck.  Since he’d come out of the ice, he’d never felt warm, never felt fully alive; as though they hadn’t found all of him and had left a crucial bit of himself behind in that endless cold.  Rationally, he knows that isn’t true and they didn’t leave a part of him behind.  The voice in his head – the voice of _Captain America_ – tells him that all he needs is to stay focused, to keep moving forward, to get the job done.

“Loki,” he whispers.  He licks his lips, tasting a slight metallic tang in the water.  “You can see it, can’t you?”

Loki’s response is very carefully measured.  “See what?”

“This… _thing…_ inside me.”  In that moment, he suddenly feels more naked and more vulnerable than he did when they were having sex.  “You can see it and…and you know what it means.  Don’t you.”

Strong fingers curl over the back of his neck, firm and oddly comforting.  “I will give you what you need.”

Steve exhales; the relief that washes over him is unexpected.  He fumbles through the motions of showering, allowing Loki to guide him.  When they’re both clean and dried off, he leaves his clothes piled near the sink.  Loki carries them both up to the bed and Steve watches the candles go out one by one.  Feathers fold him up into a dark cocoon; Loki’s arms and legs draped over and around him.  He is almost asleep when Loki speaks.

“What if your Avengers discover your secret?  If they learn that you have offered up your body to their enemy.”  There is no anger or bitterness in his voice, only languid, teasing seduction.

Steve wonders if that is part of the appeal for Loki.  If there is a twisted sense of victory in it, he doesn’t think he can be angry about that.  One mortal man is hardly compensation for failing to rule an entire planet, even if it was Captain America.  He doesn’t know what the others would do.  Lock him away, possibly; strip away his shield and his uniform, likely.

Perhaps they would try to save him from himself.

“Maybe they’ll want to watch,” he says.  His bravado is rewarded with soft laughter and Loki presses closer.

As he closes his eyes, he knows he’ll be back the next night.  And the next.

Each night, it gets easier to stay.

It gets easier to forget who Captain America used to be.

**Author's Note:**

> If you're curious, I occasionally ramble about my fanfic [on Tumblr](http://www.tumblr.com/blog/bigsciencybrain). With this one, mostly I just feel really, really bad. It's like ripping the stuffing out of the teddy bear who was there for you when you were a kid and kept you safe from all your nightmares.


End file.
